Identity
by Teskosuicide
Summary: And for the first time in his life, he felt beautiful


Identity

There it was before him, the vanity table that he kept shoved back in his closet, covered in old clothes that no longer fit and boxes of toys that were no longer worthy of being played with, much too childish for a teenager who needed a more active thing to keep their attentions focused on. Something that required less thought, less imagination and more pressing of buttons and following pretty pixels upon a screen. How ironic, as now his imagination was running wild. What had caused him to drag out this old thing? His mother had bought it for him when he was a child, probably not one of her more intelligent moves, but she just wanted him happy. Rarely, if ever, did he actually use it for what it was made for. The fancy struck him to pull the damn thing out today, even though he was still questioning _why_. Down at the wooden surface he stared, curiosity reigning high, fear holding him back, logic running through his mind, missing that twinge of knowledge that this was not something he was supposed to be doing. A twinge he had only felt enough times to be counted on one hand. There was a severe lack of shame in the consideration that was coursing through his mind, though logic was screaming, pleading with his starved, emaciated concience. He pushed back the voices arguing in his head, crushing them into silence, turning his full attentions back to the vanity.

It was a rather shitty vanity, though not even seven years old. However, knowing his mom, she picked it up from a yard sale or something and it was actually closer to thirty years. The light blue paint was chipping off the surface, a few knobs were missing and there were various dents, gashes and dings in the ragged surface from boxes and hangers digging into the weak wood. If he sat down and ran his fingers over it, he would probably be gifted with a few splinters dug deep into his skin. The damn thing needed a new coat of paint with a strong finish, along with some polishing and new knobs. Realistically, he knew that it would never get the loving care that it deserved. Hell, no one other than himself and his mom (though he was certain she had forgotten) knew about the thing, and after this sudden desire was fulfilled, it would probably end up back in his closet. Despite this, he felt almost detached from his body as he sat down on the accompanying stool to stare at his face in the mirror.

The flat surface of the vanity table was covered in various makes and colours of cosmetics stolen from his mom. Brushes, blush, eyeshadow, foundation, powder, all the necessities that came with make up and making yourself look pretty, all in a rainbow of colours. Things to cover up the ugly, fix the surface imperfections that every human being had. Hiding behind a mask of chemicals and naturally occurring elements to appear appealing to other humans. So vain, the human race, and he knew that he was only a part of that vanity, guilty now as he contemplated the cosmetics in front of him. And so he watched as his hands, soft, despite their fairly large size, began to handle the make up in an almost expert manner. Fingers plucked up a tube, concealer, and opened it, twisting the base to make the stick appear. His fingers worked, and he watched in awe as he applied the stick under his eyes, smoothing it with a foam cosmetic wedge clutched tightly in his other hand, successfully hiding any broken capillaries or dark shadows. A few more swipes over other imperfections on his face, blemishes, scars and then he was done. Then came the cream foundation, smoothing over his skin, cool like a wet cloth, thick, cakey and uncomfortable. Starting in the center of the forehead, over the nose and across the cheeks, sliding down to his chin and then a bit onto his neck, smoothing, rubbing and blending into his skin. Beauty was springing forth like water from a fountain, mystical, delightful. A light dusting of powder, followed by blush to the apple of his cheeks, sweeping up along the cheek bone and up to the temple of his hair and his face was complete.

Then came the eyes, which had to have been one of his best features. He wanted a sultry, dark, mysterious look. He no longer thought too deeply into his actions as he peered over the myriad of cosmetics, finally selecting an eye shadow book filled with a rainbow of colours ranging from the brightest of yellow, to a deep gray. He selected purple tones, starting at a light lavender and ending in plum. Covering his eyes from lid to brow, darkest to lightest, colour was applied, carefully, expertly. Following the shadow came eyeliner. A pencil he used, sharpened to a fine point for easier application, a dark brown color. A line was drawn close to his lashes, top and bottom, meeting in the corner. Mascara, a nylon fibre type infused with vitamin e swiped along the lashes. Perfectly accented, longer, soft in appearance, they were completed with a quick combing and curl. His eyes were gorgeous, and just to test himself, he gave a come-hither look. A jolt in his chest, followed by a knowing, slow, sexy smile let him know that he had succeeded. Smile...his lips were the last touch. It was time to apply colour to those light pink, pouty muscles.

He sifted through various tubes. Some gold plated, others black, some clear. Various colours, seemingly more than even the eyeshadow book, he eventually selected a nice, dark red, the colour of red wine. Two half slides over his top lip, one for each muscle, and one long one for his bottom lip applied the lipstick smoothly over his lips, giving them colour, making them look desireable, kissable. He put down the tube, and stuck a finger into his mouth, wincing slightly at the unpleasant taste of make up on his tongue. Slowly, he withdrew it, pulling off the extra colour to avoid staining his teeth. Make up application was complete. A quick peek into the mirror said that he was gorgeous, and he believed it.

He stood and quickly stripped off his clothes, a large, red t-shirt, baggy jean pants and black, silky boxers covered in shimmering green dollar signs. He was naked, but not for long. There was a pair of boyshorts on his bed, lavender in colour. He picked them up and stepped into them, pulling them up to rest around his pelvis, telltale bulge threatening to pop out from the top. He admired his work so far, eyes travelling down to his ass, grinning. His confidence, already boosted, was reaching a new level of narcissism. He turned away from the mirror, from his half naked, lovely reflection and resumed getting dressed. Next came the bra, also lavender in colour, slipped on over his shoulders and secured in the front with a snap. He was a big boy, so flesh, fat and muscle filled the cups, though only slightly. The bra was a C, he was an A at best, but it was push up and it gave him the appearance of breasts, even if he didn't have any.

The dress that he had selected was long, and black, with a nice low cut to show off his newly gained cleavage. He unzipped the back and stepped into it, bringing it up and inserting his arms into the holes for sleeves, zipping the back once he was settled. For a final touch, a wig, the same colour as his hair, a nice light brown that dusted his shoulders in a short cut bob that framed his face. Everything was finished. He pushed aside the butterflies that had formed in his stomach and he peered out of the corner of his eye into the vanity mirror, fear now over taking him. Would he look like a fool?

The peek told him so much more, and he was captivated, opening his eyes and looking head on at the reflection in the mirror. He was absolutely stunning. The dress was a perfect fit, molded along his curves in the most provocative, sexy of manners, leaving enough to be enjoyed by the eye, but so much more to be enjoyed by the mind. The hem rested on the midpoint of his foot, making him appear to be taller, and the back curved well over his ass, which was shockingly bubbly, bouncy and firm. Carefully, he reached up and clutched a lock of hair from the wig in his fingers, giving a shy look to himself. Gorgeous. If only his friends could see him now, they would be shocked into stunned silence.

"Hey Cartman, you wanna go to --"

The brunet whirled around and met three pairs of shocked eyes. Two blue, and another set of green. He held his breath, standing stock still as Kenny, Stan and Kyle looked at him. When several beats had passed and his friends were still staring at him, Cartman swallowed his pride, and smirked.

"Hey guys."


End file.
